Just A Mathematician
by Ms.GrahamCracker
Summary: We all use math everyday; to predict weather, to tell time, to handle money and when the situation calls for it, to save a couple of friend's lives.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer; I didn't win this week's Power Ball and I still don't own any part of Numb3rs; such is life. **

**Warnings; beware of one or two cliffies **

**Spoilers – A little bit for S4 "Primacy" but, generally, for all seasons**

**Takes place early season 5 – just after Charlie's security clearance was reinstated and Nikki was still wet behind the ears.**

**A/N; This is another attempt, from yours truly, at a small multi-chaptered adventure, this time with a little math and a bit of whumping thrown in for good measure. **

**I'm not a mathematician. The math used here is very basic, something Charlie might use in his Math for Non Mathematicians class. I don't think, though, he ever tires of showing Don how often we apply math in our everyday life without knowing it. **

**I really hope you enjoy it.**

**Summary: We all use math everyday; to predict weather, to tell time, to handle money and when the situation calls for it, to save a couple of friend's lives.**

**Just A Mathematician**

**~by MsGrahamCracker~**

**Chapter One - Colby**

_Saturday, 10:58am_

_Industrial area of east L.A._

The blast was unexpected - outside the parameters of the established pattern - an anomaly. Designed to bring the old building down, it's concussive power sent shock waves of energy throughout the vast open space with such force that the steel beams were ripped from their position of support, weakening the structural strength beyond repair. The debris and resulting firestorm swept through the building with hurricane force, destroying everything in sight and leaving a charred noxious hull of concrete in it's wake. Complete and total structural collapse would eventually ensue, leaving another blackened smoldering ruin to blot the east L.A. landscape.

-- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

_Saturday, 10:12am_

_46 minutes earlier_

_FBI headquarters, downtown Los Angeles, California _

He stood silently at the elevator, head tilted up, appearing to watch the floor indicator lights flash on and off as the car descended slowly to their level. His boss, Special Agent Don Eppes, and the new team member Nikki Betancourt stood beside him and he wondered if they were also lamenting the weekend plans that had gone awry with a single phone call early that morning. Colby Granger glanced down at his watch and one side of his mouth curled up in an expression of profound and regretful resignation_**. **_Jimmy and Glenn had probably made it to the lake by now, have the campsite set up and well on their way to being knee deep in rainbow trout and empty beer cans by nightfall. He had been looking forward to a few days of camping and fishing in the mountains with a couple of friends, but Charlie Eppes' call to his brother this morning before 7am - which had propagated Don's call to each member of his team - had put an end to those plans.

An eight o'clock briefing in the war room over pastry and coffee had sealed the deal and Colby's weekend had become just two more working days until Monday.

He really couldn't say much, though. Charlie had just given them the best lead they had had in weeks and, with luck, they would be able to catch this nut-case who liked to play with bombs and wrap up this case in a few days.

Five buildings had been destroyed in the last six weeks. The suspect had tried, as others had before him, to be unpredictable and random, but, they had been able to detect certain habits. The bomber preferred a week-day; four of the five bombings had been through the week. Two of the attacks had been mid-day, two had been early morning and one had occurred at 10pm, so time was a variable, but all of the buildings had been unoccupied or abandoned, resulting in the fact that there hadn't been any casualties. The most important commonality, at least as far as the FBI's investigation went, was the fact he always used the same type and amount of explosives. In an effort to maintain the integrity of the investigation, Don had not allowed that information to be released to the press.

They had followed several disappointing leads in the days following the first three attacks. When no witnesses or new leads surfaced Don had asked Charlie to help them determine where the next unscheduled demolition would occur. Unfortunately, three explosions did not give the consultant enough data to work with and the bomber struck again and again before Charlie was able to develop an equation using a principle components analysis he had utilized to find and profile another arsonist in a previous case. He had called Don this morning and told him he had results.

There were literally scores of abandoned or unused buildings in L.A., but Charlie had come through with three possible sites as the bomber's next target and a predictive estimate of four days before it would happen.

Colby and the rest of the team knew Don didn't want to wait until Monday to check out the sites. It would take time to coordinate surveillance for three possible targets and if Charlie's prediction was right and the bomber struck on Tuesday, well...Monday might be too late. Hence, the lost weekend.

Don told them he was dividing the team, taking Liz and Nikki with him to check out the two inner city locations that were on Charlie's list while David and Colby would check the location further out, near the eastern city limits.

David had left as soon as the briefing was over, shooting his partner a look that said he would meet him in the parking lot. He had been dialing his cellphone as he walked out of the war room. Another weekend plan canceled, Colby thought grimly.

Special Agent Liz Warner joined them now at the elevator just as the doors opened and the four of them entered. Colby reached forward and pushed the button for the parking garage.

"So," Nikki's east L.A. twang rang out as they started to descend. "let me get this straight. I gave up my first weekend off since I've been here to sit through a math lesson where I didn't understand one word and you people honestly think that math guy can tell us where the bomber will hit next?"

Colby and Liz Warner shared an incredulous look at the new agent's brashness. _Oh, David will be sorry_ _he missed this one._ Colby held his breath as Don turned and gave the rookie a slow withering look over the rim of his sunglasses.

After Megan's unexpected departure they had seen Don study the personnel files looking for a replacement. When Nikki appeared on her first day, David, Colby and Liz had not been surprised at Don's selection. "Post therapy Don", as they called him in private, would see the benefit of having someone with a solid background in law and law enforcement. Her brass-knuckles approach would be good for them, if they could tame her impulsive streak that, too often, sent her charging into danger without regard for her safety. They all knew she had a huge pair of shoes to fill with Megan's absence and that Don was trying to give her every opportunity to prove herself. It had been a daunting task and Colby had seen Don run his hands through his hair in frustration a few times when dealing with the strong-minded agent.

Colby had watched her during Charlie's briefing this morning – the eye rolls, fidgeting, mouth agape expression during his analogy of the mating selection of the African tree frog _(how can this possibly have_ _anything to do with a serial bomber?_) and given her tendency for bold and brazen attitude towards just about everything, he wasn't surprised that she had a strong opinion about the consultant's methodology and presentation. Still...Charlie was part of the team and they all knew Don, as both team leader and Charlie's brother – would not tolerate the disrespect in her tone. They had a serial bomber to find and every member of the team needed to be working together.

Don sighed dramatically. "Look, I know Charlie can be hard to take sometimes, believe me, I know. But, if his equations says one of these three buildings will be next, you can believe it. It would be in your best interest, Betancourt, if you stopped talking so much and listen to what he says. You'll find he's right most of the time."

"Hey, I didn't mean anything by it, boss." she said, her full, heavily painted lips quirking up on one side in that sardonic way they were all getting use to. "I know he's your kid brother and all, but I'm just use to following police procedure – you know, investigation, stakeouts, interrogations – that kind of thing; not some weird math stuff that no one can relate to."

Colby choked back a knowing chuckle as Don shot her another piercing look. "That weird math stuff Charlie used today was just predictive analysis and you were trained in it at Quantico," he said, sharply.

"Yeah, that part I got. But, he takes it to a whole new level of weirdness."

The elevator stopped at the lower parking garage level. The doors opened and they all stepped out, heading to the twin SUV's along the far wall.

Colby chanced a small wink in Liz's direction as Don changed position just enough that Betancourt ended up beside him. The team leader's voice took on a stern, patient tone, echoing slightly in the cavernous parking area, and Colby couldn't help put picture Don trying to explain to a head-strong 15 year old girl why she couldn't date until she was 16.

"Charlie told me it's a combination of probability modeling and statistical analysis, and he used it once to help us nail some bank robbers. Every branch of law enforcement uses it in one form or another – even the LAPD."

Her reply was quick and sharp and stopped Don in his tracks. "That stuff I heard this morning isn't in any training book I've ever read."

Colby was amazed at his boss's restraint as he took two steps towards the new agent, deliberately invading her personal space.

"No?" He raised his eyebrows above the rim of his sunglasses, once again on the offensive."You don't follow patterns, watch for similar MO's, then try to guess what their next move might be?"

She swallowed under his intense scrutiny, a little less sure of herself, a little less "east L.A." in her voice. "Yeah, sure, but..."

Don's voice was hard. "Well, with Charlie's equations, there's no guessing and he can do it faster and much more efficiently than we can. Our high solve rate is due partially to Charlie and his work. He's done a great job for us, and now that all this nonsense about his clearance is over, he'll be helping us out again." He paused, pulling his sunglasses off and fixing her with a dark-eyed, challenging look. "You going to have a problem with that, Betancourt?"

Nikki's previous supervisor at the LAPD swore the strong-minded female officer had given him more than one gray hair, and while he admired her conviction, he also admired the fact that she knew when to back down and regroup. Standing here in the FBI parking garage was one of those times. She shook her head. "No. No problem, boss."

Colby and Liz had remained silent through the tense conversation, but, now, as Don nodded curtly and they continued towards the vehicles again, Liz turned to the rookie. "I remember the first briefing I sat through with Charlie. I felt like I had fallen into an alternate universe. After a while I just started nodding my head along with Granger. But, once I got past the heavy duty math terms, I realized a lot of what Charlie applies is based on principles we already use, just at a much higher level."

Colby couldn't remain quiet. "No sweat, you'll get use to Charlie. It took us a while but we've finally reached the point where we don't waste time doubting what he tells us. If he says X marks the spot, you can pretty much be sure you'll find the treasure there. Besides, he's fun to watch when he gets going."

Nikki's mouth curled into a _whatever_ expression, but she remained quiet in the face of the triple team effort and Don took it as a sign the junior agent might have some common sense, after all.

"Charlie works in applied mathematics." Don continued, patiently, as they reached the two government issued Suburbans. "He's always telling me that everything is numbers, and after you sit through of few more of his briefings, and hear some of his analogies, you'll see how he likes to point out how often we use math in our everyday lives without knowing it."

Don and Liz slid into the front seat of one of the vehicles. With David already behind the wheel of the other one, Colby headed for the passenger side. At the last minute, he saw Nikki shrug as she opened the back door of Don's SUV. "Maybe," she yielded, with a slight shrug that said she was anything but convinced, "but I try not to use math at all. It gives me a headache."

Colby was still laughing when he settled into the front seat and fastened his seatbelt. David shot him an inquiring look and Granger said, "You missed it, man. The "new guy" was challenging Don's decision making. It was a thing to behold."

Chuckling, David backed the vehicle out of it's parking space and followed Don's towards the exit. When Don stopped just before pulling out into traffic and sat idling, David swung his vehicle around and pulled up beside him. Don rolled his window down and Colby did the same.

A look passed between the three men, dark and intense and filled with understanding. Don nodded his head once and without hesitation, David and Colby returned the nod. It was a pact, a bond of trust, an unspoken promise that had nothing to do with the case and everything to do with the curly-haired consultant sitting in the backseat behind Colby.

A consultant in the field is never a good idea – whether it's an actual crime scene or a potential crime scene. They are not trained for all the myriad of things that could go wrong and they all usually tried to adhere to those rules concerning consultants – especially with Charlie. Colby had heard about Banetek Towers and the LA sniper. No one wanted a repeat of that.

Occasionally though, the nature of the crime or key piece of evidence made it necessary for Charlie to be there and Don would escort his brother to the scene, keeping him close until he could obtain the information he needed, then, either escort him out again or assign an agent to take him home.

No one had been surprised when Charlie had suggested that morning that an on-site observation would provide valuable data he couldn't get anywhere else. Given Charlie's prediction that the next explosion was at least four days away, and the fact that Charlie's track record was damn near perfect, Don had been inclined to allow his brother to accompany him to the two locations.

Don was unsure, though, if he could keep an eye on both Charlie and his rookie at the same time so, by mutual consent, it was decided Charlie would accompany David and Colby this morning and Don would look for the data points at the other sites that Charlie needed to predict the next target.

Charlie sat now, in the back seat, completely unaware of the silent promise the two agents were making to his brother – to keep him safe and out of harm's way.

Don pulled his vehicle out of the parking garage and headed west towards the first location. David followed him out of the government lot and turned east, towards the city's eastern limits.

The abandoned factory they drove to was situated in a commercially zoned, industrial section on the south-eastern edge of Los Angeles. Several of the businesses in the area had tried to implement landscaping in an effort to soften the harsh lines of the buildings and improve the appearance wherever possible. It was painfully obvious they didn't waste much time or money on the endeavor and the dry arid conditions won the battle, leaving the shrubs and plants thin and brittle with only a few scattered cacti maintaining their tenuous hold. Several of the smaller businesses had shriveled up, as well, their doors and windows boarded up. A few still struggled to survive, but they were closed today, giving the entire area a desolate and barren feel to it.

The three men approached the building and Colby grinned as he watched David grimaced when a large lizard scurried across his path. They stopped several feet back from the entrance and took a moment to scan the building.

Colby turned to the smaller man beside him. "What do you think, Charlie?"

The mathematician was absently nodding his head, one hand shading his eyes from the glaring sunlight as his eyes moved rapidly over the exterior of the building. "It fits all the parameters of the bomber's targets." he said, "but, I can't be sure until I inspect some of the interior foundations and support."

Both agents nodded agreeably and started for the entrance.

"Uh, just...just a second." Charlie shrugged a large backpack off his shoulders. Holding it with one hand, he tried to unzip it with the other. Amused, David and Colby watched as he struggled with the stubborn zipper. Perseverance finally won and the zipper flew open with an angry hiss, allowing Charlie to pull out a clipboard with several sheets of wrinkled paper attached. Grumbling to himself and smiling sheepishly to David and Colby, Charlie had to set the backpack on the ground to rummage through it's contents until he located a pen, then with a triumphant grin he zipped it back again and slung the pack on his back.

The over-sized pack on his small frame made him look more like a student than a professor and Colby just barely held back a chuckle. "Maybe you ought to leave the pack in the car, Charlie. It looks heavy." He suggested.

Charlie shook his head, "It's okay, I took the laptop out. It's not that heavy. It has... I might need..." he shrugged and flashed a smile that was equal parts apologetic, embarrassment and completely disarming.

Sharing a grin and an eye-roll the two special agents led the way into the building.

The air inside was heavy with heat and dust and dirt. It was obvious no one had been in the building for a while and there was a stagnant unused quality about it that the three men found disturbing.

Charlie immediately began scribbling, his eyes taking in structural supports, the number of load bearing walls, any and all latent defects or deterioration. He nodded absently at David's "Stay close, Charlie" as he wandered away into the vast open space of the warehouse. Lost in his calculations as he was, he missed the amused look between the two agents and Colby's resigned smirk as he nodded once to David and took up a position behind the professor. The agent followed the mathematician through the cluttered area, stepping over or around discarded chairs, garbage bags, old dented metal buckets, a few plastic tarps and several small tables with inches of dirt layered on top. There were several areas where boxes had been stacked haphazardly. A few of them showed signs of mice or rat infestation, with shredded ringlets of cardboard scattered on the floor in front of the boxes. Obviously, the previous owners either left in a hurry or abandoned the building with an apathetic indifference.

As Charlie's eyes searched for commonalities with the previous bombings, Colby's experienced ones looked for anything suspicious or areas that might be used to conceal a bomb.

His eyes were drawn upward to an open loft area where several stacks of boxes remained. A large hoist chain hung from the rafters and he saw a few discarded wooden pallets along one wall. It didn't seem a likely spot for a bomb and he turned away.

Studying the vast open interior of the factory again, Colby wondered what it had been used for. He noticed David, nearly 30 feet away, inspecting one of several large open-topped containers that were sitting in different areas around the room, abandoned, as the rest of the building was. They were large, made of some type of heavy gauge steel and reinforced at the corners with thick bands of iron. Colby guessed them to be nearly five foot high from the floor and three, maybe four foot wide. They were long, probably six feet or so. They were obviously custom made. They moved on cast iron wheels, fully mobile on the concrete floors and Colby could only imagine they were used to transport heavy machine parts from one end of the building to the other.

He watched Charlie studying a steel support beam, the mathematician following it's path to the ceiling with bright intense eyes and wondered what the smaller man saw in his head that made him return to the paper and scribble furiously, humming to himself as he did.

David called out that he was going to check out the four offices that lined the wall directly underneath the open loft. Colby acknowledged his partner with a wave of his hand. He noticed Charlie never moved. Probably didn't even hear David, he thought. What would it be like, he wondered, to be into something so deeply you weren't aware of your surroundings? And, how, he chuckled to himself, could it possibly be math?

He had not been a slouch when it came to math in college – in fact, there had been a girl once who...well, he had fond memories of helping her with her advanced calculus late one night, but nothing like the stuff Charlie gives them. He couldn't touch that stuff with the ten foot pole he used once in high school pole vaulting. That was more his strong suit.

Charlie had moved to another beam and as he watched the mathematician study it, Colby was suddenly filled with a sense of dread. Something wasn't right. He had learned to respect that feeling – that eerie sensation when, for no apparent reason, his breath quickened and his heart rate increased and his spine tingled. He had experienced it before, both in Afghanistan and in the field with the FBI, and he knew not to ignore it.

He moved quickly towards Charlie, the hair on the back of his neck raising with each step. "Charlie." he called. He wasn't surprised to see the consultant continue to take notes, completely oblivious to him and the danger. He hurried forward. "Charlie, come on, man, something's wrong. Let's get out."

He reached out, taking Charlie's arm and the smaller man finally looked up, startled. Starting to pull Charlie away, Colby's feeling of dread intensified, his breath hitching when something caught his eye. He took a cautious step around the back side of the beam Charlie had been studying and saw a strange box-like device attached to the support about two feet off the floor. A red flashing digital readout on the front of the box nearly brought him to his knees -- 9...8... .

Colby moved – fast.

Still holding Charlie's arm, he turned his head and yelled, "DAVID! BOMB!"

He glanced at the way they came in - saw the door, open and taunting, but too far away. There was no way they would make it that far. He bent forward in front of Charlie suddenly and wrapped his arms around the back of Charlie's legs, lifting him off his feet and slinging him over his shoulder. He ran, his strong legs closing the space quickly between them and one of the large metal containers. Sliding to a halt in front of one, he hefted the smaller man up and over the side, dropping him into it. "Cover your head, Charlie! Stay down!"

He crouched beside the container, breathing heavily, a sense of doom knotting in his stomach. He didn't think there was room for both of them inside the container and he knew there wasn't time to run to another one. He had continued the countdown in his head as he had run with Charlie and he had already reached _one_. He had time to turn his head, looking to the last place he saw David, whispering _zero_ as he bent forward and covered his head.

He didn't hear the explosion – he felt it. The air in his lungs was suddenly, forcibly gone. He felt an incredible pressure in his head, his arms, his legs, his stomach, his groin, his chest as the shock wave hit him and his feet left the floor. The energy caused by the explosives ripped through the building like a tsunami, sweeping everything out of it's path - including him. He was flung backwards with such force and speed he instantly became nauseous. Pummeled by debris, disoriented and dizzy he could do nothing to stop his uncontrolled flight across the room while his body was twisted around like a rag doll in the wind. The tremendous heat he felt behind him suddenly manifested into a giant ball of orange flame and it raced towards him**, **slender fingers of fire reaching ahead of the mass and tickling his back and legs with sharp painful touches. An instant later, facing forward again, he saw the concrete wall directly in his path.

There was no time for last minute reflections on his life – no slide show of memorable moments in the life and times of Colby Granger. There was nothing but a breathless instant when he saw the wall rushing closer as he flew towards it. He saw the shelves that lined the wall, filled with rusted machine parts, and experienced an perfect moment of both clarity and doom. _"Aw, shit," _he thought._ "this is gonna hurt."_

**TBC **

**A/N: Don't say I didn't warn you. I told you there would be a cliffie or two. **

**Coming soon to a computer near you; Chapter Two - Charlie**

**I know I usually update everyday, but I would really like to double check chapter two. It should be up early Tuesday. Thanks for reading.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N; The reviews are great! Thanks so much.**

_Previously on Numb3rs fanfiction – from Chapter One - Colby_

_There was no time for last minute reflections on his life – no slide show of memorable moments in the life and times of Colby Granger. There was nothing but a breathless instant when he saw the wall rushing closer as he flew towards it. He saw the shelves that lined the wall, filled with rusted machine parts, and experienced a perfect moment of both clarity and doom. "Aw, shit," he thought. "this is gonna hurt."_

**Just A Mathematician**

**~by MsGrahamCracker~**

**Chapter Two - Charlie**

Charlie's flight was less dramatic than Colby's. Hurled into the metal container by Granger's muscular arms, he was only airborne 1.3 seconds before he landed awkwardly and painfully on his side on the hard bottom of the cart. The impact caused his head to snap violently to the side and sent a jolt of searing pain through his left shoulder and hip where they connected with the metal. Before he could recover from such an ignominious landing the homemade bomb exploded.

The sound was deafening, thunderous. Even through the thick steel he felt the tremendous air pressure and belatedly, he threw his arms over his head and ears. He felt the heavy container shudder and shift, rocking unsteadily as it fought to remain upright against the force of the shock wave. The air above him turned into a rolling inferno of bright orange flames that rushed over the top of the container, sucking the oxygen away in one heated instant.

He realized suddenly that he was moving – or rather, the steel container was moving and he was it's unwilling passenger. Pushed ahead of the tremendous energy generated by the explosion, the cart sped along the concrete floor on it's cast iron wheels so quickly Charlie couldn't get his bearings. It sped across the room, out of control until it slammed into the side of the wall with such force it actually bounced backwards**.** Charlie's individual inertia, however, continued to carry him forward when the cart hit the wall. Even though, as Larry Fleinhardt would tell him, they were essentially occupying the same space, he and the cart were now traveling in two different directions. As the container bounced off the wall and began it's reverse trajectory, Charlie continued forward until he slammed into the end of the container, yelling out in pain at the impact. He tumbled backwards then, he and the cart occupying the same space once more until the wheels hit a large pile of debris and unexpectedly upended, tossing him out onto the concrete floor.

He rolled away, his body moving painfully across the floor through the scattered debris. He jerked and cried out when a broken fragment of metal pierced the tender skin on his side, just above the waistband of his jeans. Without thinking, he grabbed the large jagged-edged piece, slicing the palm of his hand. He pulled it out, realizing too late that it was the wrong thing to do. There was blood – a lot of it and he moved quickly to cover the wound with his hand trying to staunch it.

He sat, trembling, hand pressing into his side, trying to catch his breath. What the hell had happened? Startled out of his mathematical musings by Colby's yell, he had been immediately subjected to a bouncy, humiliating ride over the agent's shoulder, only to be dumped into that unyielding torture chamber of a box.

His head cleared a bit as he sat there and suddenly he remembered Colby's warning to his partner. A bomb! It couldn't have been a bomb! His calculations said four days from now. It couldn't have... but, it had, he knew, and now ... .

A sudden, loud noise startled him and he twisted around. The open loft, some distance away from him and fully engulfed in flames, suddenly disintegrated into pieces and crashed to the floor. It had a strange, muffled sound to it and, confused, Charlie put his fingers to his ears and jiggled them, as though he were trying to dislodge a plug. Numbly, he realized his hearing had probably been affected by the explosion.

Completely rattled now and afraid that he had survived the explosion only to have the whole building collapse around him, he tried to stand up.

The breakdown of the loft had weakened the trussel that supported the roof above it and before Charlie could even gain his footing a large section of the roof caved in, this time bringing down the immense wooden beams that had been part of the structural support. It was far enough away that the debris did not hit him, but the resulting pressure wave knocked him off his feet again. The smoke and dust swirled around him, choking him, gagging him, blinding him and in the midst of the hellish chaos Charlie heard a scream. The sound was muted through the dense smoke and his traumatized eardrums, but he was certain he had heard a person cry out. It echoed eerily through the smoke and he twisted his head around, trying to discern where it came from. It had been a sharp sudden yell, filled with pain and surprise and Charlie's stomach, bile and all, rose to his throat.

David or Colby. One of them was hurt.

A secondary, smaller explosion from the far end of the building startled him and he scrambled to his hands and knees, gasping in pain. _I've got to get out of here_, he thought – _get some help_. He crawled back towards the container and the protection it offered. Upended on one of it's sides the cart's open end beckoned him to hide inside but his stomach rolled at the thought of being in there again. What the hell had Granger been thinking putting him in that? It had almost killed him. His head and neck still hurt from the first impact, as well as his shoulder and hip, but his collision with the end of the container and subsequent tumble head over heels assured he would be black and blue everywhere for some time.

Instead of crawling inside, Charlie reached up, using the edge of the cart as leverage, and pulled himself to a standing position. A bout of dizziness swept over him and he closed his eyes, just standing still for a moment. When he felt it was safe he opened his eyes – and nearly lost his stomach. The entire side of the container bore the marks of the explosion. The heavy gauge steel was dented and pitted, with several extremely large shards of metal actually embedded in the side. Blackened scorch marks from the intense heat of the fire covered every inch of the cart's exterior. He swallowed hard at the realization that the thick walls of the metal container had taken the brunt of the explosion instead of him. By putting him inside the heavy receptacle, Colby had definitely saved his life. He'd have to thank him – when they get out of here.

But, first, he'd have to find the two agents and that was going to be the hard part.

In a smaller, more confined space the fire and the smoke would become deadly in a very short time. The vast openness and high, 30 foot ceilings, as well as the fact that nearly 76 per cent of the building was concrete, gave him a little more time. Even then, breathable air was quickly becoming scarce. It was thick and heavy with the odor of the explosive but the real enemy was the smoke that had started to settle around him. Scratchy tendrils of it slid down his throat, blocking his airway and he started to choke, then cough, earnestly.

The racking cough intensified every ache and pain he had and he couldn't stop himself from isolating the different sources of agony. His head hurt and a tentative touch to his left temple confirmed an open gash, still bleeding slightly. His shoulder still ached but it was his hip that gave him more discomfort. He found it hard to put weight on that leg and he stood, swaying slightly on his right leg as he pulled his shirt up and examined the wound in his side. When he had pulled the metal shard out, it had bled profusely, and the left front of his jeans was wet with blood. He became queasy just looking at it. It didn't seem to be bleeding as heavily now and he dropped his shirt over it again. There was nothing he could do about it at the moment.

His injuries suddenly seemed minor as the building itself seemed to moan and Charlie looked around, frantically, for the source of the noise. With a tremendous roar, another large portion of the roof crumpled and gave way, crashing to the floor just twenty feet behind him. Another massive wave of dirt and debris and smoke engulfed him, burning his eyes and choking him.

Shaking now with shock and fear, Charlie was beginning to panic. He had to get out.

Disoriented, he looked around. He had been so engrossed with his calculations when they walked in, he wasn't sure which way to go and the smoke filled room gave no hints. He turned around several times before he saw the doorway - nearly sobbing with relief when he saw the smoke-muted sunlight beckoning on the other side.

He took a few unsteady steps in that direction – then remembered the cry of pain he had heard earlier. Either David or Colby or even both of them were injured or worse. He couldn't just walk out.

Glancing around he saw that the roof collapse had scattered the pockets of fire throughout the area and with the greater influx of oxygen feeding the flames, the fire was burning brighter and hotter. He knew by the time help would arrive it might be too late.

Logic dictated he should leave the building and call for help. He didn't know if either of them was alive or injured or trapped, but one thing he knew for sure – they were still there, in the burning building**. **In Don's stead or a sense of duty or out of friendship, neither of them would leave without all of them getting out **– **and for identical reasons, he could do no less.

Decided and suddenly more clear-headed than he had been since the explosion, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cellphone. The faceplate was cracked across the screen but it still lit up when he pushed 911. For just an instant he had considered calling Don, but his brother was on the other side of Los Angeles and there was nothing he could do except mobilize emergency personnel, which Charlie could do himself. He also knew if he talked to Don, he would put his brother in the position of ordering him out of the building in fear for his safety; an order that could result in either David or Colby or both of them not making it out of the building in time. He would refuse – Don would insist – and time would be wasted. Milliseconds counted.

The voice that answered was so low Charlie wasn't sure anyone had answered.

"Hello?" he croaked. He was dismayed to hear his own voice was barely discernible. Obviously, his ears had not recovered from the explosion yet. "Please." he said, probably louder than necessary. "I can't...my ears..."

The experienced voice on the other end must have understood and the familiar announcement was repeated at a louder level and Charlie was able to hear the second time.

"911. What's your emergency?"

His words flew out rapidly then - loudly and breathlessly - giving them the details; the address, the explosion, two FBI agents lost somewhere in the flames and smoke and destruction.

"I've got units on the way." the voice assured him quickly, but way too calmly for his tastes, then asked his name.

"Char...lie." He choked out, coughing, then corrected, "Charlie Eppes."

"Charlie, you need to get out of the building." Finally, there was a sense of urgency to the disembodied voice. "Is there an exit? Can you see the door? I want you to find an exit and get out right away."

Having already accepted what he needed to do, he didn't waste time with a response.

"Charlie?" The voice returned, concerned and worried. "Charlie? Are you still there? You need to stay on the line with me, Charlie."

Charlie Eppes didn't possess his brother's fatalistic view on life. He didn't buy into that mind-set that fate played a part in life or death. The scientist in him allowed for too many differing variables and constraints. Like Schroedinger's cat, one could hypothesize that it is possible to be both dead and alive at the same time. Don and his team faced every day knowing it could be their last and they accepted death as an end – a final formula, if you will. It gave Don a freedom Charlie could only imagine; freedom to charge into danger without thought, without hesitation; to do what needed done, no matter the cost. He envied his brother in that because right now, he was afraid – more afraid than he had ever been. He wanted out. He didn't want to die there today, in that building.

Walking out that door without David and Colby, though, was not an option. His few days of FBI training last year had not prepared him for such a rescue mission and he knew his skills were totally inadequate, but, right now, he was all there was. He didn't want to let them down.

"Please." He spoke into the phone, his voice both firm and imploring. "Tell them to hurry." He snapped the phone closed and returned it to his jeans pocket.

Focused now, he moved back to the container. His backpack had fallen off during his brief ride and he reached into the cart, pulling it out now. He didn't have any trouble with the zipper this time – his shaky fingers nearly ripping it open.

The fire was spreading rapidly, but he knew it was the smoke and the dust in the air that was the greatest danger at this point and if he was going to look for David and Colby he knew he had to address that first.

He shook off his jacket and tossed it aside. Crossing his arms in front of him, he lifted the hem of his T shirt up and pulled it over his head, gasping when his injured shoulder and puncture wound in his side painfully protested the movement. Panting, he worked quickly, tearing the material into three long strips, tossing the large section of the shirt that was covered in blood aside.

When he was done ripping the material, he tucked the ends of two of the long strips into the right side of the waistband of his jeans. Reaching into the backpack he removed a bottle of water and quickly opened it. Working with trembling fingers he poured some of the now precious liquid onto the center of the strip of cloth he was holding, soaking it thoroughly, then closed the bottle. Covering his nose and mouth with the wet strip of material, he tied it securely behind his head. He shoved the bottle of water into a pocket of his jeans.

Bare-chested now, he was acutely aware of the intense heat the fire generated, but he was relieved to find it was easier to breath through the wet cloth.

His eyes burned as he glanced to the general area where he last heard David tell Colby he was going to check out the office. There was nothing there but a large pile of rubble and debris from the loft. If David was in or under that pile, maybe it would be easier to find Colby first and hopefully, if he wasn't hurt too badly, they could find David together. Of course, he didn't know for sure that was where David was when the bomb went off. He swallowed hard, chastising himself for being so distracted and nonobservant.

The support beam that had hidden the bomb had been the first casualty of the explosion - blown to smithereens - but Charlie looked in that direction, trying to pinpoint where he and Colby had been standing before the blast. The ceiling and roof above the post was gone – chunks of wood and steel and plaster blown all over the room. The mid-morning light outside sent a lone sunbeam down through the smoke and for an instant Charlie found himself wondering how the world outside could still be bright and clean while it looked like a war zone inside. Shaking it off, he studied the area, estimating the size and type of explosives, calculating in the dense air quality that had been in the overheated pre-explosion building, burn rates, pressure waves and Colby's size and weight. He turned his head slowly, his eyes tracking the invisible trajectory. Knowing the force of the explosion would propel the agent in a perpendicular line away from the bomb, Charlie limped towards the far wall. His eyes burning, he searched through the rubble of metal shelving and machine parts scattered around.

He found Colby right away. The agent was lying in a tangled mess of debris and dirt. Charlie paused briefly at the sight of the injured man. Aside from a highly enjoyable moment during his last year at Princeton when Marshall Penfield drank himself into an unconscious stupor, Charlie had never seen anyone unconscious before.

Granger was sprawled on the concrete floor. His body was a mass of cuts and bruising and burns and blood. His left arm was obviously broken, probably in two places, since it seemed to be pointing in several different directions at once. A large gash above his right eye bled down the side of his forehead and into his hair. There was a long, open wound on his right arm that extended from his shoulder to just above the elbow and that, along with a jagged cut across his lower chest, was the major source of the blood that was pooling on the floor around them.

From his friend's position, Charlie surmised that he had been slammed into the wall by the force of the bomb's energy. If he was still conscious at the time, he would have been knocked senseless the instant he hit the unyielding concrete. There would have been no time to cry out in pain. The yell he had heard couldn't have been from Colby – it had to be David.

Even as that knowledge weighed heavily on Charlie's heart, another horrifying thought made him look at the still form in front of him. Maybe, just maybe, Colby wasn't unconscious; maybe he was... . Charlie held his breath. He reached towards the agent's neck with shaky hands and felt for a pulse. Disgusted with his inability to stop his hands from shaking long enough to determine if the vein in his friend's neck pulsed with any regularity, Charlie sat back on his heels.

He knew he had a tendency to shut down instead of dealing with stress or personal trauma and he found himself wishing he had called Don, after all. Don would know what to do.

Fighting off the panic, he brought his hand to Colby's chest and splayed it across his rib cage. It was more than relief when he felt the labored breathing and the weak, unsteady heartbeat under the bloody charred shirt; it was a call to action. He had to do something. Miraculously, Colby was still alive and it was up to him to keep him that way.

Quickly, he pulled one of the strips of material from his waistband and the water from his pocket and wet the center of it, like the one he was wearing. He placed it over Colby's nose and mouth and turned his head gently so he could tie it behind his head. Then he assessed the situation.

He didn't think he could just pull him out of the building to safety. First, both of Colby's arms were injured too badly and he wouldn't be able to get a good enough hold anywhere else. He considered pulling him by his legs until he saw the horrible burn marks. There was no way he could carry him – even accounting for adrenalin. He remembered pulling the agent from the rushing waters of the Northgate Dam a few years ago. The difference was, at that time, Colby was able to help pull himself up, slinging a leg up to the walkway and helping Charlie pull him to safety. This time, Colby was limp, unresponsive, a solid weight and Charlie wasn't sure what to do.

He was fighting down the panic when he saw the plastic tarps lying a few feet away. He ran to them. The first one he picked up was torn, a large rip from the center to one edge and Charlie quickly tossed it aside. The second one he deemed too small, but the third one had only a few small tears in it and he was pleased with it's heavy weight and size. He carried it back and spread it out quickly beside his friend.

He would have to roll Colby onto the tarp, but he was afraid to hurt his already severely damaged arm. He stood up and unbuckled his belt then dragged it quickly through the belt loops. He knew his belt would not go around Colby's broad chest, so he did the same with Colby's belt, then slid the end of his in through the belt buckle of Colby's and connected them together. As gently as he could he slid it under Granger's back, then crossed the agent's two injured arms against his chest. Charlie brought the belt buckle around and fastened it, hoping it would hold Colby's arm's in place. Being as careful as he could, working as quickly as he could, he straightened Colby's body as much as possible, then slowly, keeping his friend's back and neck straight, he rolled him onto the open tarp.

He took a moment to look at the doorway, judging the distance and obstacles between them, then leaned over and grabbed the edge of the tarp with both hands. He pulled, hard, and the tarp moved several inches.

Charlie stopped. He was already panting, gasping in pain as the exertion magnified every injury he had. Obviously, terror induced adrenaline wouldn't be enough this time. He knew, though, what might help.

He searched through the rubble on the floor until he found a section of wood nearly a foot long and an inch or so thick. He placed it on one corner of the tarp, a few inches in from the edge. He brought the end of the tarp up and wrapped it securely around the piece of wood and began rolling it towards the center, as though he were rolling a poster around a cardboard tube. After he had rolled it in nearly a foot or so, he grabbed the makeshift handle with both hands and pulled again. It worked. The tarp slid across the floor with less effort and Charlie had Colby to the doorway in less than a minute.

He dragged the agent away from the building, into the fresh air. Sinking, exhausted to his knees, Charlie removed the cloth from his face, breathing in the clean air. He reached over to do the same for Colby when he noticed the man was stirring, a faint moan emanating from under the cloth. Quickly, Charlie untied the strip of material and tossed it aside. "Colby," he croaked, then cleared his throat and tried again. "Colby, come on, man."

Granger's head moved slightly in response, but his eyes remained closed and then, once again he settled into stillness. It wasn't much, but Charlie felt rejuvenated with hope. He re-wet his cloth, tying it over his nose and mouth again, then returned the bottle to his jeans pocket and staggered to his feet. With one last look at Colby, Charlie turned and limped back into the inferno after David.

**TBC**

**Up next; Chapter Three - David**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N; Wow, what a response! I'm thrilled with all the great reviews. I treasure each and every one. Now, onto David. It's a little longer than the others. I hope you enjoy it.**

_Previously on Numb3rs Fanfiction - from Chapter Two - Charlie_

_Granger's head moved slightly in response, but his eyes remained closed and then, once again, he settled into stillness. It wasn't much, but Charlie felt rejuvenated with hope. He re-wet his cloth and tied it around his nose and mouth again, then returned the bottle to his jeans pocket and staggered to his feet. With one last look at Colby, Charlie turned and limped back into the inferno after David. _

**Just a Mathematician**

**~by MsGrahamCracker~**

**Chapter Three - David**

_Saturday, 10:58am_

Warned by his partner's yell, David Sinclair immediately dove for cover behind a half wall partition that might have at one time been an elaborate work bench. It had thick wooden sides, reinforced with strips of metal and had been bolted into the wall. He had seen Granger's face as he reached for Charlie and the expression of pure panic told David all he needed to know – there must be a timer involved and it must have run out. No time to do anything but dig in.

Trained in explosive survival during his first posting in Tel Aviv, he moved with precision, without thought. He shook his jacket off and wrapped it around his head to protect his eyes and ears from flying debris. Quickly, he laid down flat, with his head facing the direction away from where Colby had seen the bomb. He placed one side of his face to the floor, and covered his head with his hands, keeping his elbows tight against his sides to protect his vital organs. David knew it was the initial pressure wave that could do the most damage – sometimes causing Primary Blast Injury, an often fatal condition with multiple broken bones and deadly internal injuries. Lying flat to reduce his lateral profile as much as possible he laid still, breathing in and out in rapid pulses to keep his air passages open and waited for the shock wave he knew was coming.

A split second later all hell broke loose.

He felt the floor shudder beneath him and an immense _whoosh_ of hot air pressed him further to the floor. The oxygen level in the room dissipated immediately as the heat increased and he fought the urge to breathe deep, maintaining the small measured breaths he knew would protect his lungs. Even though his ears were covered, the deafening noise and pressure caused by the explosion sent sharp needle-like jabs to his eardrums and he yelled out.

The wooden and metal work bench absorbed much of the initial shock wave, but splintered apart a few seconds later. No longer protected from the pressure wave, he found himself being propelled across the floor, joining the storm of flying debris. He rolled to a sudden stop against a fallen support beam and cried out in pain. Trained to remain down until the immediate danger of fallout passed, David covered his head again and forced himself to remain flat on the floor as he was bombarded with fragments of wood and metal and glass from the office windows.

After a few endless moments of uncertainty and at the first sign that the strength of the debris field was weakening he scrambled to his feet, gasping, shaking off the pellets of glass that clung to his clothing. He swayed, unsteady. There was an incessant noise, a buzzing in his ears, and he raised shaky hands to them. His left hand came away with a small smear of blood. Eardrum, he though grimly.

Even with diminished hearing, an ominous rumble got his attention and he looked up in time to see the open loft area directly above him, now fully engulfed in flames, crumble apart. He tried to dodge the initial shower of burning wood and metal but he wasn't fast enough to evade the 12 ton hoist chain that swung into his vision an instant before it struck him in the shoulder, knocking him backwards onto the floor again.

Dazed by the blow, he had no time to recover before the loft and everything that had been in it crashed down around him. He managed to throw his arms up around his face and head to protect them, leaving, in his opinion, far too many important areas unprotected. Somehow, with the exception of a few smaller pieces delivering glancing blows and small burns, most of the large debris missed him, leaving him stunned and breathless.

There was another rumble above him and David instinctively tried to roll out of the way. Several large pieces of the wooden trussel that supported the roof suddenly splintered apart and fell, two of the smaller sections hitting him and keeping him from moving out of the way. Before he could shake them off, one end of the main supports, twelve feet long and over a foot thick, hit the concrete floor beside him with a sudden loud crack. The rest of the beam hit David's left hip and thigh, pinning him to the floor. He screamed as the impact snapped the bone in his leg like a piece of dry spaghetti.

The pain was almost unbearable, nearly paralyzing in it's intensity and David choked on another yell. All thoughts of the explosion and fire were dwarfed by the agony; only the pain existed and for a short time David was afraid he would succumb completely to it. Rational thought returned slowly, then his breathing evened out and the pain became secondary to his desperate need to get out from under the heavy beam.

It had fallen across his left hip, angeling over his right leg and both knees. He could actually move his right leg slightly beneath it because the majority of the beam's length extended several feet beyond his left shoulder; its edge flush on the floor and raising the shorter end that laid across his right leg up a few inches. Another shattered fragment of wood next to him on the floor was actually supporting some of the beam's immense weight and had kept it from crushing his leg completely.

He raised both hands to it and pushed hard. Nothing. He tried to shift around under it and use more of his body's weight behind the effort but all he succeeded in doing was wrenching the muscles in his back. He fell back, trying to control his need to gasp against the pain.

He wasn't going to get out of this by himself.

Realizing he couldn't move the weight from his leg without help, David's thoughts returned to his partner and Charlie. Did they make it? He knew they were too far inside the building to be able to get out before the explosion. And they were closer to the actual bomb than he had been. Were they hurt – trapped – dead? Instinct told him to call out for them – maybe, by some miracle they had survived and they could help him out from under this damn beam – but, once again, his training kicked in and told him to keep still, be quiet. Yelling for help or moving around would stir the dust and dirt and he could do more damage by inhaling dangerous amounts of it. He needed some other way to let them or potential rescuers know where he was.

His phone was lost somewhere among the debris. He did, however, have his ID and badge. Maybe he could bang the metal badge against something – just enough to make some noise. After a quick search, he realized, with despair, that there was nothing with metal or steel in it close enough for him to get to. There was always his Glock, resting in the holster under his arm, that he could fire into the air, but David wasn't sure if there were any gas or chemical leaks that would spark at gunfire and he sure as hell didn't want to cause another explosion.

Surely someone had heard the noise. Surely someone, somewhere saw the flames and smoke that had to be evident from every window or door. Surely someone called it in and emergency squads would be there soon.

He looked around. The building was vast and open and, even though it was filling rapidly with smoke, David thought there just might be time for a quick rescue before smoke inhalation would become a danger; if the rescue crews got there in the next few minutes, that is.

There was a groaning, an agonized sound of a building in the throes of imminent death and, with a sinking heart, he knew rescue would not be in time. The area close to where Colby and Charlie had been standing before the explosion suddenly disappeared in a dense cloud of dust and dirt as another part of the building's roof collapsed inward with a thunderous roar. Once again, David raised his arms over his head, fending off flying debris. He closed his eyes and held his breath as long as he could.

When he opened them again he imagined this must be what a war zone would look like. The air was dark with dust and dirt – the only light being provided by the fire that now fed ravenously on everything in it's path. The scattered debris, which just seconds ago, had threatened to bury him now suddenly became a threat of a different, more heinous, type.

With terrifying, heart-stopping alarm, he realized the collapse of the roof had fed the flames with fresh oxygen and the pockets of fire about the room were suddenly ablaze with new vigor and energy and spreading, inch by inch closer to where he lay trapped by a very flammable wooden beam.

Despite his training and his resolve to remain still, he panicked.

He began thrashing back and forth trying desperately to move the cumbersome beam, heedless of the pain or stirring the dust and dirt. He shifted his weight onto his left hip, groaning loudly as a sharp pain radiated throughout his spine. Ignoring it, he pulled his free right leg up, placing his foot against the wood and pushed with all his might. With excruciating agony, he raised his upper body off the floor, adding both hands to the effort. The stubborn piece of wood would not budge.

No longer able to control his breathing, he was panting now with fear and pain, his mind raced with frightening images of the old wood consumed by flames, his body beneath it burning, as well. His stomach clenched and he gagged as a long repressed memory surfaced clearly.

It had happened during his third week in Tel Aviv, Israel at his first posting out of Quantico. He had been assigned to assist a unit of Israeli soldiers just outside the American Embassy during a protest against the US. The car had come out of nowhere, driving into the small group before he knew what was happening. The suicide bomber planned it well and fifteen people were killed. A young Israeli soldier had been standing too close and his clothing had caught fire. He had flailed and screamed as he ran in circles, hampering rescue efforts while the constant din of his screams and moans blocked everything else out.

No amount of training could have prepared him for the sight of that young man shrieking in agony, or the smell of burning flesh as the flames devoured his skin and hair, or the image of his tortured body finally falling to the ground, twitching even in death.

Could he just lie here and wait for the fire to reach him? Could he remain passive while watching the flames inch closer until the wood finally ignited, followed by his leg beneath it? It wasn't in his nature to submit without a fight, but, unless Colby or Charlie or Someone showed up in the next few minutes, he didn't think he would have a choice.

With a detachment that shocked him, the thought came to him that he was wrong. He did have a choice. He wasn't completely helpless. He could escape without physically leaving this spot. He could run away even though the beam continued to hold his leg prisoner against the hard concrete.

His hand moved beside him, reaching for the comfort and reassurance of his Glock, waiting silently in it's holster.

He shuddered. The idea of being burned alive juxtaposed with the alternative of putting a bullet into his own brain and David fought back the bile rising in his throat at the thought of either one. The young soldier's screams of agony filled his mind, his senses, his entire being and the thought of dying like that was incomprehensible, unfathomable – but, so was killing himself. Could he take the easy way out, could he end it all as a quitter?

In the end, he knew he couldn't do it. He didn't fight his way out of a poor, hard life in the Bronx, to attend Cornell University where he had to work two jobs to pay tuition and living expenses - just to give up now. He didn't fight prejudice from New York to Israel to the west coast where everyday was a struggle to define himself as a person, not a race - to take his own life. He didn't push himself through the rigorous training at Quantico in order to help people and make a difference - just to die alone, by his own hand, in some stupid abandoned factory in L.A.. No, he would face this as he had faced every other hardship in his life – straight on. If this is what fate had planned for him he would accept that.

That didn't mean, he thought grimly, that I have to give up trying.

He reached out towards a long slender section of metal pipe that had come down with the ceiling and lying just a few feet away. He had to shift again, groaning as he irritated the wrenched spinal cord once more and stretched his fingers as far as he could. He managed to nudge it with the tip of his finger, changing it's position just enough that he was able to grab it.

Lying straight again, David looked around him. In some areas, there was nothing between him and the burning debris but empty floor space; concrete floor, he thought with no small amount of relief. He wouldn't worry about those just now. Other hot spots of fiery rubble, though, burned voraciously, spreading quickly towards him and the wood above him. He knocked them aside with the metal pipe, pushing them away from him, trying to scatter the different elements of debris and hopefully reduce the flames.

All around him, as far as he could reach, he continued his assault on the fire, switching the pipe from hand to hand, maintaining an arm's length clear parameter on all sides.

The heat had become unbearable, beyond anything he could have imagined. Both his eyes and his lungs burned and he coughed, his body racked with spasms produced by the the heavy smoke. He knew he would lose that battle first – that smoke inhalation would kill him before the fire – but he didn't ease up.

David Sinclair would not go down without a fight.

There was a sudden movement – a noise, barely discernible through the incessant crackle of the fire and David strained to identify it. He thought he heard...was that?...then clearly he heard a slight cough. He tried to yell but as he took in air, his throat closed up and he coughed harshly. His cough merged into a moan as pain flared through his body. Desperate now, he slammed the metal rod onto the concrete floor, hard and fast and repeatedly, and the sound carried through the smoke.

Like a scene from an action packed summer blockbuster movie David saw a faint image through the haze. Instead of Bruce Willis or Will Smith, however, it was Charlie Eppes' limping, battered, bloody form that emerged from the smoke. David's emotions warred with his immense relief that someone was there to help him, and the fact that it was Charlie - and he was obviously injured - and what could Charlie do to help him move this damn hunk of wood - and Charlie would only perish along with him in the unforgiving inferno - and he had made a promise to Don.

"Get out of here, Charlie." David croaked, desperately. He had already come to terms with dying here today. He didn't want to take the young professor with him, as well.

Charlie shook his head slowly. "Don't talk." he grumbled, his words muffled under the strip of cloth over his mouth. "Can't hear you anyway."

David watched as Charlie pulled the last strip of his T shirt from his waistband and the water bottle from his pocket. He soaked the material, then gave the bottle to David, letting him drink the last of it. When David had finished and tossed the bottle aside, Charlie handed the cloth to him. "Here, this will help."

It did. For the first time since this nightmare began, David allowed his lungs to fill completely and he relished the feeling.

He watched Charlie quickly take in the scene around them; the beam, the pipe in David's hand, the scattered remnants of the building, ablaze and spreading towards the trapped agent.

With surprising dexterity, considering his injuries, Charlie cleared a larger area around them, then turned his attention to the source of their trouble.

He studied the beam, running his hands over it, testing it, his head cocked to one side, and from the movement of the cloth around the consultant's mouth, David knew he was talking to himself. This was ridiculous. There was nothing the smaller man would be able to do. Even their combined efforts wouldn't be enough to move the behemoth holding him captive.

"Charlie, please, just go get help. You can't do anything for me."

When Charlie silently turned and disappeared into the smoke again, David was both stunned and relieved. He'd expected Charlie to put up a fight, to argue with him, to at least try to move the beam. He certainly didn't think the stubborn professor would give up so quickly and leave the building like he was told to.

It was better this way, David told himself. At least Charlie would make it out alive. He thought, again, of Colby, his partner, his friend and hoped he was already on the outside, coordinating rescue operations – or, worst case scenario, that his death had been painless and quick.

He tried not to think of the young Israeli soldier; tried to stay positive and hopeful, not hopeless, helpless and alone. It was hard. He thought, briefly, of just taking the damp cloth from his mouth and letting the smoke do it's worse. At least, he would be gone before the fire reached the beam.

He was startled out of his morose thoughts when Charlie suddenly returned, panting and struggling under the weight of a fragment of concrete or cement, roughly the size of a large boulder. It was flat on one side and Charlie leaned over, dropping the flat end on the floor, a foot or so from David's lower left leg.

Before David could even ask what he was up to, the mathematician disappeared into the smoke again, only to return a short time later, dragging a long section of heavy steel pipe.

David watched helplessly as Charlie moved around him, adjusting the placement of the cement fragment, then shaking his head and moving it again. Despite himself, David was spellbound. Charlie was literally shaking with fatigue and pain, but the agent had seen that look in the consultant's eyes before. He was in the zone. He was lost to the real world and absorbed in that magical stuff only he could see.

David knew what Charlie was going to try. He had seen a lever used other times, in other situations. From the position of the concrete fragment, or fulcrum, David could see that if Charlie were able to move the beam at all, he would only be able to raise it far enough to allow him to slide his leg out. Any further and the heavy piece of wood would roll forward, possibly crushing his chest and head.

Charlie placed the end of the steel pipe securely beneath the beam, wedging it tightly between the wood and the hard floor, just inches from David's hip, then double checked the pipe's placement across the fulcrum.

The steel pipe was long, probably ten feet or more, and angled as it was across the concrete fragment, the end extended upward into the air and nearly out of the consultant's reach.

At any other time, it would have been comical to see Charlie try to reach the end of the pipe, and he and Colby would have had fun with it. David watched the smaller man stretch and reach up over his head for the sheered off edge of the pipe, and was instantly sobered by the image.

Stretched as he was, even in their smoke-filled surroundings, the puncture wound in his side was more visible and David grimaced. It was bloody and angry looking and David knew it had to be painful.

The agent hadn't noticed the injury to Charlie's hand before, but now, with his arms above his head, he saw the blood drip slowly down the inside of his arm. He was moved by the sight as Charlie continued to reach. David had never felt so frustrated and helpless.

Charlie finally connected with the pipe and wrapped both hands around the smooth surface. He pulled down with all his might, straining, but the beam didn't budge. He let go and David saw him bend forward slightly, his hands on his knees, obviously in pain and taking measured breaths under the strip of cloth.

There was no way Charlie was going to be able to move this beam, but, before David could try, once again, to convince the consultant to leave him there, Charlie disappeared into the smoke.

An interminable few moments passed before Charlie appeared again. He had another, smaller fragment of concrete that he placed on the floor under the raised pipe and David was surprised to see that the young man had also retrieved his backpack.

David watched, mesmerized as Charlie began gathering small chunks of wood and concrete that lay scattered around them and put them in the pack. When it was filled, Charlie dragged the now heavy backpack over to where he had placed the second concrete fragment. Stepping up onto it, he used both hands to lift the pack up and drape the shoulder harness over the end of the pipe. He held it in place with one hand while he untied the strip of cloth from around his mouth.

"No, Charlie! Don't!" David croaked.

"Needs more weight." Charlie said absently as he looped the cloth through the harness and began tying it to the pipe. " ... distance is right, but the force is insufficient."

When the weighted backpack was secured he centered his stance on his makeshift pedestal. His chest was even now with the end of the pipe and he leaned forward onto it, letting his feet leave the concrete and adding his body weight to that of the pack. He cried out with a primal mix of pain and fear and supreme effort.

Incredibly, David felt the beam twitch slightly and shift. The joy was short-lived, however, as pain shot up and down his leg when the heavy beam finally lifted. He lent his voice to Charlie's as he yelled out in pain. Gasping, he put his hands flat on the floor and when the force of Charlie's weight moved the beam far enough away, David slid his body out from under it.

Immediately, he rolled away and as soon as he was clear, Charlie let the beam fall back to the ground.

David wasn't sure how he managed it, but somehow Charlie got him to his feet. It took a moment for them to get their balance, with both of them favoring a leg, then Charlie wrapped one arm around the agent's back and pulled David's arm around his shoulder. They started towards the door, David trying not to put weight on his leg, but trying not to place too much burden on Charlie, who was now limping badly enough himself to hamper their escape.

They made it to the door, panting and clutching each other for support. When they stepped out into the sunlight, the first thing David saw was Colby laying where Charlie had left him. As they made their way to him, David noticed the tarp his friend was laying on and the identical strip of cloth beside him and he knew instantly that, somehow, as crazy as it sounded, Charlie had gotten them both out.

They dropped gingerly to the ground beside Colby, each of them groaning as they slid down. David reached forward right away and checked for the pulse in Colby's neck. It was there – a little weak, a little unsteady, but gloriously there and David sagged gently against his friend in profound relief.

After a moment, he reached up and pulled the cloth away from his face, tossing it next to Colby's on the tarp. He cleared his throat and let his gaze take in Colby's injuries. Stunned at what he saw, David turned to Charlie with every intention of asking him how he had managed to get Granger out of the building without exacerbating his injuries any further, but Charlie was laying flat on his back, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly, his face a mixed expression of exhaustion and relief and satisfaction.

Maybe Charlie had the right idea, David thought. Miraculously, they were all alive. Everything else could wait a minute or two. He let himself lay back beside his friends and just...breathe.

He jerked when he felt his head being lifted gently and an oxygen mask slipped efficiently over his nose and mouth. Shocked to see a concerned paramedic in front of him, he tried to get up but gentle hands kept his shoulders to the ground.

"Take it easy, agent. Try to be still."

He looked around. The area was full of emergency vehicles and firefighters rushing around as they fought to extinguish the fire. _When had they arrived? _

A young, intense medic was fitting a blood pressure cuff to his arm, as another one gently examined his leg. He noticed another team of medics beside him, working on Colby. A third set of paramedics had moved Charlie a little away from them, probably to give the two working with Colby more room for the equipment they needed.

He knew the routine; had been to too many crime scenes and watched too many medics work with the victims. He tried to relax and let them do their job.

A gurney had been moved into place beside Colby and now, with the help of two firefighters, the two medics lifted him up, using the trimmed down tarp to move him onto the mobile cot. In an efficient flurry of movement and words the injured agent was loaded into the back of an ambulance and rushed away.

Charlie was still being treated a few feet away. In the sunlight, now, David could see the young man's injuries more clearly and he winced at the sight of the wound in his side; the blood staining his skin and drying on his jeans. The medics had applied a neck brace and were now busy wrapping a white gauze bandage around his head wound.

The entire scene was too surreal - smoke, flames, noise, flashing lights, blood, pain - and David closed his eyes against it. It was too much.

The medics who were helping him kept up a constant dialogue between themselves, full of medical jargon he couldn't begin to comprehend, and his impaired hearing caught bits and pieces of it. A different set of voices broke through and David caught "... yeah, that one." He opened his eyes to see two uniformed policemen walking by. One was older than David and the other one was young, probably a rookie, he thought. The "newbie" turned to his partner.

"That little guy ... there? There's no way. Both ... other guys outweigh ... by 50 pounds or more – and I mean 50 ... of muscle."

"Adrenaline. I've seen ... before."

They were gone, then, and David thought about what they said. Yeah, the rookie was right. He and Granger kept themselves in shape – they had to, to do their job. They worked out, they stayed active and they attended periodic specialized training courses. They were trained federal agents, who, in addition to the promise they made Don, had vowed to protect and save civilians – not the other way around.

Charlie Eppes was a college professor who, even though he played basketball, took the occasional hike and literally ran from one project to another, still lived the life of an academic; most of his work was done standing in front of a blackboard or sitting in front of a computer. He also had a tendency to get a little pudgy if he indulged in too much of his father's cooking. His physical attributes and accomplishments paled dramatically next to his mental ones.

David turned his head towards Charlie again and noticed that one of the medics that had been treating the consultant had returned to the ambulance for the gurney while the other one was helping a firefighter who had been overcome by smoke. In the midst of the large scale activity all around him, Charlie looked small and vulnerable laying there alone.

There had certainly been nothing small and vulnerable about him today, though, David thought. He had been larger than life and unexpectedly formidable.

David remembered his Grandma Sinclair telling him not to judge a book by it's cover. That platitude certainly described the enigma that was Charlie Eppes. In the five years he had known Charlie he had seen many different and varied layers of the man; from a slightly quirky math geek to an honored mathematician, a valued consultant and a revered educator, a loyal friend and a loved family member; and today – today, an unlikely hero.

On a late night stakeout once Don had told David that while math obviously came easy for his brother, it was life that was hard for him. He just couldn't seem to reach the same equilibrium that others could.

One thing David knew for sure was that he and Colby were alive right now because of Charlie and he knew what it had cost the young man to save them. Knowing Charlie, David grinned to himself, he will shake it off and attribute his amazing feat to math, somehow. What was that he had said once – oh, yeah - "Everything is numbers".

Well, not everything, David thought. There's courage and bravery and loyalty and a whole spectrum of things that had nothing to do with numbers and everything to do with the kind of man you are.

The paramedics had the collapsible gurney in place beside him, then, and gently lifted him onto it. They took a moment to adjust the IV bag and check the straps that held him in place, then they raised the gurney and snapped the legs into position. They rolled him to the ambulance and with synchronized, practiced movements, they collapsed it again, then pushed it into the back of the vehicle.

Even though he had seen that the medics helping the young consultant were also preparing him for transport David didn't feel right leaving the scene before Charlie.

After what had happened today it was obvious Charlie could take care of himself, but ...

He pulled the oxygen mask to the side and turned to the attendant beside him. "Hey, man, do you think we could ..."

A new set of flashing lights caught his attention and, with immense relief, he watched the familiar black Suburban expertly maneuver it's way through the phalanx of emergency vehicles.

Slipping the mask in place again, he settled back onto the way too narrow mattress and waved his hand dismissively. "It's all good, man. Let's go."

The attendant behind the wheel pulled the ambulance out of the parking lot and onto the street. Even though there was little to no traffic, he turned both the lights and the sirens on and David found himself nearly hypnotized by the vibrations and rhythmic sounds.

"That was some explosion, dude," the young medic commented. "You guys were sure lucky."

David didn't answer, but he grinned, wryly, under the oxygen mask. Luck, he thought, had nothing to do with it.

**TBC**

**A/N: And last, but certainly not least, Don's up tomorrow.**


	4. Chapter 4

_Previously, on Numb3rs – from chapter three – David._

_David didn't answer, but he grinned, wryly, under the oxygen mask. Luck, he thought, had nothing to do with it._

**Just A Mathematician**

**~by MsGrahamCracker~**

**Chapter Four - Don**

_Saturday_

_UCLA Medical Center_

_1:34pm_

Don Eppes paused briefly in the hospital corridor just outside room 256 and took a deep breath. He glanced at his watch. A little past one thirty in the afternoon and he already felt like he had been dragged through the mill once or twice today.

It had been close – too damn close and Don hadn't really had time to deal with it yet. Called by the LAPD, he had made it to the scene of the explosion just as the ambulance transporting David to the hospital was leaving the site and Charlie was being loaded into another one. Colby had already been transported to the burn unit at UCLA.

He had flashed his ID to the attendant and jumped into the ambulance beside his brother before anyone could protest. He didn't know what to expect, but it had still been a shock to see Charlie, his curls limp and plastered to his head, bloody white bandages around his head, hand and stomach, his chest bare and dark with soot.

Don had bit his lip, holding in his emotion as the paramedics adjusted the IV drips and cleaned the wound in his brother's side. He had asked the attendant in a low shaky tone how bad it was and Charlie's eyes had opened quickly at the sound of his voice. They were red, puffy and watery, but Charlie smiled - a smile that was both reassuring and filled with relief, and Don had let himself relax.

He still didn't have the whole story. He had been allowed to see David for a few minutes before they took him to surgery and the agent told him that, incredibly, it had been Charlie who had gotten them all out alive.

After calling David's and Colby's families, Don had waited, anxiously, pacing, frustrated while the doctors worked on his brother. Two calls from Liz, who had stayed at the scene, and one from Nikki who had joined the LAPD arson squad in a preliminary investigation, filled in some of the missing pieces, but, he still needed to talk to Charlie.

The doctors had finally come out and discussed Charlie's injuries with him; a moderate head injury, but, luckily, no concussion, significant blood loss, 8 stitches to close the gap in his side and 4 in his hand, bruised shoulder, a cracked hip bone, numerous cuts, bruises and contusions, and, of course, smoke inhalation.

As bad as it sounded, Don knew it could have been so much worse. He had called Alan, who was visiting relatives in San Diego and Amita and Larry who were in Seattle working on the Higgs Bosen project. They all were rushing back to Los Angeles as soon as possible.

He stood, now, outside Charlie's hospital room, his hand on the knob, taking several calming breaths before opening the door.

The doctor had told Don smoke inhalation can produce severe headaches and that Charlie's eyes would be irritated for a short time yet, so they were keeping the room's lights low for Charlie's benefit. One small light was on above the bed, bathing the patient from behind in a soft glow. Charlie had his eyes closed and Don took a moment to study his brother. He looked better than he had in the ambulance. His hair was still a mess but the hospital staff had cleaned the soot and dirt from his face, leaving only stubble covering the pale skin. A small white gauze bandage covered the laceration on his forehead and Don knew a similar one covered the wound in his side beneath the standard hospital gown. The bed, slightly elevated, was surrounded by IV stands and monitors, all of which were attached to his brother. Instead of the large mask Don had last seen on him, oxygen was now being fed to him through a cannula inserted in his nose.

The doctor had also told Don that Charlie's hearing would probably return to normal over the next few hours, so he tried to enter the room quietly. If he was sleeping, he didn't want to disturb him. Before he could close the door, however, a page for Dr. Paulson to dial extension 402 blared over the intercom in the hallway and Charlie's eyes shot open. Seeing Don in the doorway, he tried to sit up straight, but the effort drew a gasp of pain which, quickly became a hoarse cough, then a low moan, and he fell back against the pillow, holding his hand against his side.

Don hurried across the room. "Whoa, whoa, hold on there, buddy. Take it easy."

Charlie held up his hand, palm out towards his brother, saying without words that he was alright. Unfortunately, it was the hand he had cut pulling the shard out of his side and the white bandage, spotted with small smears of blood, belied that particular assessment. "Don," he said in a raw scratchy voice that had Don wincing in sympathy. "David and Colby. Are they..."

Don held out his own hand, stopping Charlie's question. "They're going to be alright, Charlie," Don reassured him. "Colby's pretty banged up, but you already knew that. He's got a serious concussion, his arm's broken in two places, second and third degree burns on his back and legs. There was also some internal bleeding but they were able to control that." He paused as Charlie winced. "He's lucky to be alive, buddy," he went on, "and he's going to be out of commission for a while, but the doctors say, in time, he's going to be fine. David's leg is broken and he wrenched his back, but other than that and some minor cuts and bruises, he's okay. He's in surgery right now, but the doctor's think he'll make a full recovery."

Charlie's eyes were still a little red and weepy looking and Don thought he was the perfect picture of misery as he managed to croak out, "My calculations ... I was wrong. I've been ... trying to determine what ... ."

Don shook his head, quickly stepping closer and laying a gentle hand on his brother's shoulder. "No, Charlie, you weren't wrong. Nikki called. She went with the LAPD arson squad. The bomb wasn't the same as the others and when they interviewed the owner of the building, she was suspicious enough to look around. They found pieces of the bomb right there in the guy's trash. He made it himself. Guess he was going after the insurance money and figured another bombing would just be blamed on the serial bomber."

"A ... a copycat." Charlie murmured, dully, slowly digesting the information.

Don nodded and Charlie gave his brother a quick and unexpected lop-sided smile. "But no one knew about the type of explosives the bomber used. You fooled him."

Don grinned, glad to see the guilt lift from his brother's face.

"It's ironic, though." Charlie said.

"What is?"

"The joke's on him, more ways than one. I think...no, I'm sure the serial bomber would have struck there next."

"Well," Don drawled, thoughtfully, "he's not the first criminal I've seen whose greed got the best of him."

Charlie coughed, raw and hoarse, and Don winced again. "Hey, buddy, it's probably better if you don't talk too much. Give your throat a break, huh." He patted his brother's arm, gentle and awkward. He knew Charlie needed to rest but he was reluctant to leave just yet. "I heard some firefighters talking in the lobby." he said. "You realize what you did today? They're calling you a hero."

"That's ridiculous," Charlie said wearily, disregarding Don's advice. He settled his head back on the pillow and cleared his throat. "If anyone's the hero, it's Colby. He's the one who noticed the bomb. He warned David in time. He...he threw me into that metal contraption on wheels."

Don was silent, knowing everything Charlie said was true. Colby's actions had certainly played a part in all three of them surviving the explosion. The truth remained, though, that Charlie should have never been there in the first place. As senior agent, Don would probably be unofficially reprimanded for allowing it. He had to admit that the near-tragedy this morning was a strong affirmation that consultant's don't belong in the field and Don intended to have this conversation with his team and most assuredly, his brother – later, when Charlie didn't look so...broken.

Looking at Charlie now, Don frowned at the sudden look of anguish and embarrassment and self-condemnation in his brother's eyes. Charlie coughed, once, raspy and frog-like, which only added to the misery in his voice as he said, "I...I was standing right next to the bomb, Don. I didn't ... I wasn't paying attention."

Don shuddered at his brother's admission and, with considerable effort, shook off the image that it produced. He kept his voice steady and focused on the pride he felt, instead."Not to take anything away from Granger, because, seriously Charlie, we owe him big time, but he's trained to pay attention and to think fast and react faster. You aren't and the fact that you were able to get yourself and both of them out safely, well ..."

"I didn't do anything special." Charlie protested again, frowning now with the displeased look he adapted when he didn't think anyone was listening to him.

Immune to that look since he was thirteen, Don continued. "Nothing special, huh? To start with, you all could have died of smoke inhalation today, buddy, if you hadn't covered your mouths with the wet cloth."

"It was logical to keep the smoke we inhaled to a minimum." Charlie argued. "It just made sense. It's like I always tell you, math is logic – rationality."

"Oh, so you're saying you used math to save David and Colby."

Don's voice was skeptical, but his eyes twinkled as Charlie rose to the bait and answered, a little defensively, "Yeah, I am. I used some very basic mathematical applications. Anyone could have done the same thing."

"What," Don teased, "you have a mathematical equation to save people from a burning building, cause I think the fire department might be interested if you do."

"Nothing that structured or finite." Charlie scowled at his brother. "But, it's not so obscure that we don't apply it everyday."

At Don's confused expression, Charlie sat up a little straighter. "Alright, consider Sir Isaac Newton's three laws of motion."

An easy slow smile spread across Don's features as Charlie talked. Even though the effects of the mornings disaster were evident in his watery eyes and raw throat and numerous bandages, the mathematician rallied momentarily in his enthusiastic explanation and Don was nearly overcome with relief.

"Newton's first law of motion," Charlie began, _"'A body at rest or uniform motion remains at rest or_ _uniform motion until it is acted upon by an external unbalanced force.'_ I think Colby demonstrated that very effectively when he hit the wall." Both brothers winced, with sincere empathy, at the image those words conjured. "It holds true at the other end of the spectrum, as well, when he was unconscious." Charlie continued. "A force of significant strength was needed to put him in motion. I simply applied a basic law of physics that all firefighters and rescue workers utilize; don't lift anything you can drag, don't drag anything you can roll, don't roll anything you can leave."

A brief coughing spell interrupted Charlie's mini math lesson and Don quickly filled a glass with water and handed it to his brother. As Charlie gratefully drank the water, Don took over the narrative, as much to show Charlie he understood as to keep his brother from taxing his throat or strength.

"So you rolled Colby onto the tarp and dragged him out. Still, you were injured yourself and Colby's no light weight - dragging him couldn't have been easy."

Recovered, Charlie offered an explanation. "Newton's second law, _F=m x a; force equals mass times_ a_cceleration_. And, yeah, Don, I admit, even overdosing on adrenaline, I had trouble dragging him. So, once again, I applied logic and used the piece of wood as a handle to increase the force, compensating for the friction created by the tarp's resistance and Colby's weight being dragged across concrete floor."

Before Don could comment, the door opened and a middle age nurse with a mega-watt smile and a name tag introducing her as Molly bustled in. "Well, hello, there, bright eyes. You've had quite a morning, haven't you?"

Her enthusiasm was contagious and neither brother could stop the grim smile at the obvious understatement.

She produced a syringe from the pocket of her Winnie The Pooh smock and approached the bed. "Dr. Winstead wants you to have another dose of morphine."

Don stepped away to give her access to his brother and watched silently as she administered the pain medication with practiced ease. After a quick look at the dressings and IV drip, she checked the monitors that were beeping rhythmically, broadcasting his blood pressure and heart rate. Seemingly satisfied with the results, she jotted the numbers down on the chart at the foot of Charlie's bed. With another sunny smile at both brothers and an unexpected wink in Don's direction she left the room.

Don approached the bed once more. Charlie didn't look as pale as he had earlier, Don noticed with relief, and it was obvious his hearing was nearly back to normal. He was still very weak and needed to rest – something the morphine will help with, Don thought – but the younger Eppes had other ideas.

"So, I applied Newton's third law to get David out from under the beam." Charlie began again, but Don jumped in.

"Wait, I think I know that one. Isn't that_ For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction_?"

Ignoring Don's attempt to keep him from talking, Charlie nodded and forged ahead, a little slower than before. "All forces are interactions, Don. If body A exerts a force on body B, simultaneously, body B exerts a force of the same magnitude on body A, both forces acting along the same line. I pushed downward on the lever and the lever applied the same amount of force upward. The concrete fragment acted as fulcrum and by placing it correctly, approximately one point eight feet from David's left hip, and increasing the force exponentially with the weight of the backpack, I was able ..."

"Ah, wait, I see," Don tried again when Charlie's voice became raspy. "You used the old Archimedes _Give me a lever long enough and a_ _fulcrum on which to place it and I can move the world _thing, right?"

Charlie smiled, drowsily, at his brother's understanding. The morphine was doing it's job.

Don stepped close to the bed again and his hands found the railing.

"Hey," he said softly and Charlie's eyes blinked once and focused on him. "I see what you are saying buddy, but from where I stand, what you did today took more than just math - it took guts and strength - strength I didn't even know you had."

"My strength has always been numbers, Don." His words were slurring. "You and David and Colby have the superhero thing going. I'm just a mathematician." The last words tapered off to a whisper and his eyes flickered a few times.

"Well... you rest now," Don said, patting Charlie's shoulder. "Dad and Amita and Larry will be here soon."

Charlie closed his eyes and Don stood beside the bed for a few minutes, watching until his brother's breaths became even and steady. He walked away from the bed, shaking his head slightly, his lips pursed in an incredulous smirk. _My genius __brother, _he thought._ Couldn't be more wrong. You're so __much more than just a mathematician._

He stepped into the corridor, closing the door quietly behind him. A small commotion at the nurses station drew his attention and he nearly groaned out loud when he saw them.

He didn't need to know their names to know who they were. Reporters. Three men and a woman were talking to one of the nurses and a real groan did escape him when the he saw the nurse turn and point towards him. More specifically, he thought with alarm, to Charlie's room behind him.

They turned their heads, saw him standing there and started his way.

Two of the men were middle-aged; one was shorter than the other by 6 inches or so – the other one heavier by 50 pounds or more.

Tall and Heavy reminded Don of the father of a girl he dated a few times in high school. Candy's old man had been bullish and obdurate when it came to his daughter's after school activities. He had even called Alan and Margaret and warned them of the consequences if their son was anything less than a gentleman when he was with her. Besides the physical resemblance, Don saw the same arrogance in this large man before him.

Short and Skinny needed a guest shot on "What Not To Wear". Distinguishable only in a nondescript way, he wore pants of a vague dark color, a blue stripe shirt and an outlandishly bold plaid bow tie.

The third man was painfully young and obviously star-struck by the lone woman in the group. He carried a large video camera on his shoulder and maintained a position two steps behind her as they approached him. Don recognized her as a newswoman from a local television station. The young man must be her photographer.

Don made sure the door to Charlie's room was closed tight and took a few steps away from it, drawing their attention to him.

"Are you suppose to be in here?" he asked, using his best authoritative voice. He was definitely uneasy that they had been asking about Charlie. The last thing his brother needed today was a bunch of intrusive strangers asking questions while some over-eager photographer took his picture. Don made sure his glare at the young man conveyed that and he was gratified to see him swallow thickly and take a step backwards.

The others were not as easily intimidated. Collectively, they ignored his question. With a nod of his head indicating the closed door behind Don, Daddy Dearest asked, "Is that one of the men injured in the warehouse explosion this morning?"

"Yeah." Don answered cautiously, suspiciously, protectively – knowing they already knew the answer.

Bow Tie spoke up. "We heard FBI was at the scene when the latest bomb went off. Is he an FBI agent?"

"No, he's a math professor."

"Was this the work of the serial bomber?"

Don adapted the timeworn**, **exasperated, _You know I can't say anything about it, why do you even ask _expression and said, "That's an active case. I can't comment." He tried to push his way past them, hoping they would get the message that the interview was over and leave also, but the woman spoke next and her cold, calculating tone stopped him in his tracks.

"Wait a minute. A math professor. Is that Dr. Charles Eppes in there. He consults for the FBI, right?"

When Don didn't answer immediately, they took his hesitation as a confirmation and they swooped in like vultures.

"Was he there on a case?"

"How badly is he injured?"

"Is he working with the FBI on the bomber case?"

Don recovered enough to repeat his earlier statement, his dark eyes flashing. "I told you, it's an active case – no comment."

"Well," the large reporter drawled slowly, taking a step towards Charlie's door, "maybe the professor will have a comment. We'll just talk to him."

Don stepped in front of him, blocking the doorway. "Not today. His throat's a little sore from the smoke and he's rest..."

"Who are you," Bow Tie interrupted, "his doctor?"

With considerable effort, Don kept his voice low and he let a dark penetrating gaze sweep over each of them in turn. "No, I'm his brother, Special Agent Don Eppes and I _am_ with the FBI. You can talk to him tomorrow."

Confident that he had made his point, Don walked away, shaking his head at the reporter's abrasive and insensitive attitudes.

Once again, it was the woman's voice that stopped him. This time, however, it was laced with quiet respect and honest curiosity. "Agent Eppes, we heard he saved those two FBI agents today. How could a math professor do that?"

He turned to the group again and noticed the change immediately. Apparently it was alright to push their way into an interview with a witness but there was a whole new set of rules with a family member. There was a deference, a professional courtesy now, that wasn't there before and Don relaxed. They were just doing their jobs – and as long as they stayed away from Charlie today, he could care less about their rules of reporters etiquette.

Should he tell them how Charlie managed to get himself and David and Colby out of the building today? He couldn't stop the small chuckle as he thought about Sir Isaac Newton's laws of motion and wondered if they would believe him.

Seeing that they were waiting for an answer, he shrugged his shoulders and grinned as if he were enjoying a private joke and said simply, "How else? He used math."

The woman sighed, noticeably disappointed at what she saw as an evasive and unlikely answer. She turned to the young man beside her and motioned for him to follow her.

This time it was Don's voice that stopped her. Surprising even himself, he called out, "You want a story?"

She was a good judge of character and she had seen that he had just been trying to protect his brother earlier, but now, she stopped, looking into his eyes, trying to determine if he was really offering to tell them what had happened at the warehouse this morning.

He could see her hesitation and offered another morsel. "I'll tell you just how Charlie saved my agents today."

The four of them stood quietly as Don ran his hand through the soft curls at the back of his neck. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He chewed his lower lip, took a deep breath and prayed he'd get it right. "See, you may not know it," he began, "but we all use math everyday . . ."

**The end **

**Wow, the response to this story was outstanding. Thanks to all of you who have read it and a special bless you to those who took the time to review.**

**A/N; To those of you who reviewed my previous story, "A Loss of Innocence", and asked for a sequel, I'm not counting out the possibility of one in the future. I admit, originally, it was planned as a three part series – something I've always wanted to do – but, as it progressed it just seemed to flow better as a one-shot and I honestly feel I said what I wanted to say. I may continue it, though, if I feel I can do justice to it. **

**Thanks again to all my readers.**


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